“So be it!” Gaela yelled.
“What is this storm?”
All glared at the newcomer: Kay Oak, muddy from travel and stinking of horse. Gaela wished to welcome him, the uncle who shared her better blood. But the once-earl put his hands on his hips and very clearly turned a face of comfort to the king. “Your Majesty, my kin, what troubles you?”
“My wretched girl turns me out!” wailed the king, with no hint of his so-recent fury at the Oak Earl, nor even a hint of familial recognition.
“Patience, lord,” Kayo said, turning to Gaela with disbelief. He stripped off his heavy riding gloves.
She covered her annoyance with a shrug. “If he insists, so it must be.”
“Gaela.” Her name was all exasperation in Kayo’s mouth. “You owe him a daughter’s fealty. See how unfit he is.”
“I owe him nothing but what he has already received. How do you stand here now, defending him, when he banished you, cast you aside, like there was nothing he owed to you? Like you were not brothers. What for?”
Lear blinked. He scrubbed at his eyes and dragged those offending hands into his wild hair. “Banished?” he murmured, and his mouth curled up into a sneer. “My betraying brother! Would he dare show himself?”
“Ah no, Lear! Ha!” the Fool danced up and between Lear and Kayo. “This is not your brother but mine, a darker Fool than me, but stilla fool.”
Gaela laughed harshly. “He is at that.”
“Why are you turning your father out?” Kayo asked her.
“Lear has heard my accusations of misrule and chaos sown in my home, and does not defend himself or his men. So I judge them unfit for this place.”
Lear cackled, a child unattended, and aimed his words to the sky. “Regan will welcome me, and Connley!”
Kayo frowned. “Connley cannot be trusted, Your Highness.”
“But my other, brighter daughter Regan will take me in. Her love has always been true.”
“You are mad,” Gaela said wonderingly.
Lear fell silent. All around, retainers barely breathed.
Kayo’s frown encompassed the entire yard. “Be kind, Gaela, you see how it is with him. He needs you to be a daughter.”
“As I needed my mother?”
The Oak Earl said nothing, shattered—as he should have been—by the reminder.
Gaela held her hands out, uncaring now for her uncle’s opinion. He was as in love with inconstant Lear and as stupid as Elia. “If Lear needs my council, he should listen to me. Father, I care not where you go, but you will not stay here, not with all your rowdy men. Revel in kinship with the beasts of the field, or ask some poorer of your lands to house and feed you! Discover whether you are truly beloved of these people. I think you will be surprised.”
Kayo’s eyes were shadowed, so low and glaring was his brow. “Would your people shelteryou,Gaela?”
“I will withdraw my protection of you, Kayo, if you do not watch your tongue.”
“They would shelter Elia.”
Gaela bared her teeth. “I will shelter my people, because I will be their king.”
Lear stepped nearer to his eldest daughter, peering into her face. “It is no wonder I find no comfort nor nurturing grace here; this daughter has none in her. She is dried up, barren of life, deprived of motherhood for being her own mother’s death omen.”
Gaela slapped him.
The king staggered back, and around him blades grated free of sheaths.
Kayo hauled at her arm, crying her name. She swung, knocking Kayo off her.
